THE GLOOM OF LAKE MOON BOOK THE SECOND: THE UNIMAGINABLE TERRORS
by MadameMorganLeFay
Summary: Now that Morgana has lured Arthur to Lake Moon, it seems that there is no way out for the Once and Future King. (As continued from Book the First)
1. Chapter 10- A Frightening Change

**BOOK THE SECOND: THE UNIMAGINABLE TERRORS**

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_(AS CONTINUED FROM BOOK THE FIRST:)_

Summary: Now that Morgana has lured Arthur to Lake Moon, it seems as though the Once and Future King will never return alive...

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**CHAPTER 10- A Frightening Change**

Heavy and pronounced footsteps promenading down the Main Corridor put a hasty stop to a hushed conversation between Gaius and Sir Gwaine.

Both men sprang apart as the owner of a well-heeled pair of boots and black cloak swept into view leaving an aura of disguised menace in his wake. Their expressions hardened as they caught his eye and bowed in the customary manner due to the second most powerful man in the land. After he strode on ahead, they chanced a risky peek at each other, betraying nothing except with their mistrustful and uneasy eyes. A moments pause elapsed before both men followed the first down the chilly passageway towards the Court Room, their own steps hushed and modest compared to those of the first man. On the way, Sir Elyan and Sir Galahad drifted alongside them, headed the same way; later on they were accompanied by Sir Percival and Sir Leon. Nobody spoke. Only the perfectly synchronised routine of steps was audible until the guards poised in front of two giant, ornate oak doors pulled them open without any flourish- then, they were cast from musty, enclosed gloom into the streamlined needles of light that filtered through the Court Room's crystallised panes of glass and stabbed the floor only to spring up again, headed for the ceiling. Not one of the men noticed this; their sombre eyes were directed only at the famed Round Table where other dignitaries were already seated expectantly, and at the head where the first man was seated pompously, casting arrogant glances to the left and to his right. Once seated, a daunting silence settled in the air. All heads were turned towards the man seated at the head, and no one dared to speak.

Finally, the first man straightened up, clearing his throat dramatically.

"Gentlemen."

His curt greeting was met with respectful bows- some rather more forced than others.

"Gentlemen, some among you have expressed a wish for this assembly," he announced, fixing Leon with an impassive stare that made the other man sit straighter in an attempt not to wilt in shame at the thick condescension in Agravaine's voice. "And I, as unofficial Regent, must listen to the will of the people. Now- yes, Gaius?"

The aged Physician had raised his arm hesitantly; now he did his best to ignore the astonished stares directed at him. "Excuse me, my Lord- but how can you be Regent when King Arthur has not been officially described as unfit to rule?"

Agravaine pursed his lips and shifted in his chair, playing with a miniature trinket in one hand. In truth, he had little patience for this old man, and only tolerated him to preserve appearances- but if he was to be subjected to a relentless cross-examination after everything he said, then it might be time to show the Court Physician where he stood in the scheme of things. Despite these dark thoughts, he smiled perfunctorily, leaning forward earnestly.

"I understand your views Gaius- and yes, in ordinary circumstances, only Arthur's indisposition would qualify me for assuming the title of Regent. But these are no ordinary circumstances- and I have been listening to the people," he added as a random thought crossed his mind; "they are scared and confused that their King has deserted them- yes, Gwaine?"

"Begging your pardon, My Lord- but Arthur has not deserted his people; he has gone to rescue one of the very same people you claim to have spoken with."

A shocked silence followed Gwaine's calm, controlled and yet tight interruption. The Knight's hands were clenched into fists and his eyes were as black as midnight. Upon closer inspection, some of those seated around the table could see that Elyan had placed a restraining hand on the former's shoulder, but those curled fingers were lax and did little to restrain the impetuous Knight- neither did they wish to. A mask of agonised fury eclipsed Elyan's face also, though he was wise enough to hold his tongue.

Agravaine glowered. His eyebrows plunged into his eyes and his lips transformed into a seamless slit of distaste. Fingers flexed and curled with sickening popping sounds and he shifted his weight onto his right side, as though that might give him an even more foreboding appearance. Yet when he spoke, not a single drop of pulsing anger escaped into his words; the frown melted back into his forehead and the slit became a full mouth once more.

"Indeed, Gwaine- I apologise," he replied shortly. "To answer Gaius' question- in times like these, a leader must be found, one who can steer the people from the long night of uncertainty into the breaking daylight of peace and goodwill."

"That man is Arthur," Percival blurted out unexpectedly. As soon as he had made the interruption, he flushed and resumed staring at his bulging biceps as if he could draw some material comfort from his undeniable physical strength. He dared not glance up and see what frightening response he would receive from Agravaine's cruel eyes, nor the varied reactions he would see when casting his eyes around those assembled in glum silence around him. Someone from the other side coughed pointedly- perhaps it was a reminder or a warning; he didn't know, and the revelation would not interest him in the slightest. He simply withdrew into himself and waited for the brewing storm clouds to blow over.

Again, the indomitable Uncle remained unperturbed, at least on his surface. "Of course Arthur is the man!" He even managed a short bark of laughter, to which no one joined in. "I do not doubt the wisdom and brilliance of my nephew for a second, and I am glad that you feel the same, Sir Percival. It means more to me than I could ever possibly hope to articulate."

The Knight in question mumbled something that might have been thanks for the praise, or some other non-committal response.

"Nevertheless, our esteemed King is not present- that much we can agree on." Agravaine pressed his lips to restrain a cunning, joyful smirk- perhaps something along those lines flashed across his face for mere seconds before it vanished, leaving a theatrically sombre man in its stead. "As you know, I did try hard to persuade him against leaving Camelot- but to no avail. You, my good men, also said as much. Alas, Arthur is so full of goodwill that even sensible advice can fall upon deaf ears." Laughter bubbled enthusiastically inside his stomach and again he had to briefly lower his head to prevent his mask of concern from slipping and revealing the evils that lurked within.

"But-sir," Leon interjected hesitantly. He wasn't always like this; when Arthur was around, he would never be afraid to cut him off or argue against him, even if he knew his place. But with Agravaine... there was just this undercurrent of malaise that prevented him from being as forward as normal- it was as though he wished to conceal and shield himself from an enemy that he had not yet identified. "Surely... it is not too late. I-I know we would be disobeying orders, but His Majesty..."

"Leon, Arthur has placed great trust in you. Even as he is in Grignael and Lake- I mean, Grignael, he expects that you will be investigating the source of this unspeakable crime against the lovely Guinevere-" (Elyan felt a shudder rack his body at the tone Agravaine had used to describe his sister, as though she was something he could eat)- "My nephew needs the security of knowing that the kingdom is in good hands- and what better hands than yours, Sir Leon?"

The Knight shook his head, even before Agravaine had finished speaking. "My Lord, I thank you for your kind words, but did you not just say that you were unofficial Regent? Does that not mean that the Kingdom rests in your hands?"

"Oh- yes," Agravaine clarified hastily, running an agitated hand through greasy black locks. "Yes, of course. But I was saying from an investigative point of view-"

"-Allow me to interrupt once more, good sir; Camelot has many fine men who, with your guidance, can watch over the kingdom. Myself and Elyan, Percival, Gwaine, Galahad- we could go and search for Arthur and Merlin. I will take all the blame, I-"

"But you are our best Knight!" Agravaine spluttered with dramatic outrage. "I cannot allow this! It is against my nephew's direct orders!"

Leon sighed, sensing a losing battle looming on the gray horizon. "My Lord," he repeated softly, his voice patient and almost resigned, "Arthur and Merlin could be in danger. You know Morgana wants our King dead. Furthermore," he continued when he saw the Regent's mouth begin to open- "Furthermore, when Guinevere is found, surely help might be needed?"

"If she is found."

"She will be, of course!" Elyan retorted tightly. "Morgana cannot be allowed to get away with this."

Now it was Gwaine who placed a soothing hand on his friend's arm, still shooting murderous glances at the head of the Round Table. The atmosphere was growing ugly, though no sharp words had been exchanged. Everyone's eyes were becoming jaded, as though they were concealing something and presenting a poker face to the meeting. The Knights in particular had never remembered feeling so uneasy when Arthur took his rightful place at table- and Council had always been a more bearable prospect when Merlin had been there to lighten the mood with his sarcastic replies and bored expression throughout. With Agravaine, one got the distinct impression that a barrier had been created between each person and the next. No one wished to confide with the group, neither did they wish to make their opinions know. Every free man had been reduced to a prisoner tied to a chair with thick, unyielding ropes, and yet at the head of table, the man in question lounged easily in his chair, unaffected by the invisible chaos he had produced.

"Of course, Elyan," Agravaine purred, admiring his golden trinket once more. "Of course."

* * *

"Its bloody useless!" Gwaine exclaimed, throwing an empty jug against the wall of his chambers before sinking onto his bed in a heap. At his dining table, a stolid, unmoved Elyan and Percival watched him, nursing their own drinks. "That odious slime ball- he is watching everything! Claims it is all about "Arthur's orders"!"

"It wasn't Arthur's orders for Agravaine to become Regent," Elyan offered quietly with a sigh.

"Can't you see it?!" the first cried, gesticulating wildly at the door. "He is a power hungry bastard! He doesn't care about his beloved nephew! He doesn't care a fig about Gwen! He wouldn't bat a eyelid if Merlin-" Here he trailed off before his throat could become thick with restrained emotion. After a brief pause, he regained his composure and continued his rant in a more sedate manner: "All we want to do is just help them... but it feels as though we are being kept in."

"I went for a morning ride and was followed the whole way," Percival muttered into his tin mug. The other men stared at him for a while, probably recalling other instances over the past hours where it appeared that their movements were being monitored. If they had been more bold, they might have speculated that Agravaine wanted to keep them indoors, watched and suppressed, but the latter's innocent faces and lengthy monologues about the endless magnanimity of his "beloved nephew" had dispelled those suspicions from being put forward as tangible theories. Even Gwaine had been more reserved than of late, staying up into the small hours of each dreary morning worrying about Merlin in particular, sometimes sitting besides Elyan in companionable silence, staring into space. They all felt useless and spent, even without any kind of skirmish or turmoil to be reported in the kingdom. Life was suddenly very depressing and a repetitive routine. The fiery crimson emblem that epitomised the fighting spirit of Camelot's men under their celebrated King had grown dull and worn. Blank walls and four edged corners seemed to materialize out of thin air.

The people had felt the change too. Each morning, people passing the courtyard would remember to walk on instead of hang around just waiting for a glimpse of the King. The usual "Long Live The King" had died on the lips of passers-by and well-wishers. How could one transfer the affection shown for Arthur, the kind and the Merciful, to Agravaine, the stale and the aggravating? It was impossible. The diminished citizens would merely bow fearfully whenever they saw him and scuttle away like terrified spiders, hoping never to be caught in his path again. The sun had retracted its brilliance behind clouds for the past few days and drizzles of rain spattered onto noble and peasant alike from time to time. And once again, the atmosphere of open comradeship between all echelons of society had dissipated. Neighbours watched neighbours and then pretended that they had not. Informants had leaked into the very tiniest crannies of the kingdom, reporting actions, words and whereabouts back to their dark master with feverish, fervent and obsequious excitement. People avoided speaking in the streets, and made for home as soon as the light had drawn in.

This wasn't Camelot.

The question was, why?

* * *

"How are things in Camelot?" A silky whisper wafted up from a golden scrying bowl, running into Agravaine's delighted ears and echoing off the curved stone walls of his chambers.

"I have everything under control," he assured the shimmering image of his mistress' face.

"Hmm." There was a pause whilst Morgana turned her head, presumably to check something. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that she was in some kind of...cabin?

"Where are you?"

Her head snapped back, decorated with a joyful smirk. Pearly white teeth showed behind tempting ruby lips, glinting even in the hushed candlelight behind him. "Conquest," she replied simply and then drew back to give the Uncle a view of Guinevere, lying bound and gagged on the floor of the cabin, lost in an anguished sleep.

"So quickly? But- you said that Merlin was not stupid...?"

Instead of smiling, Morgana's brows furrowed together and she cleared her throat. "Agravaine, Merlin isn't stupid- like I told you. I found a copy of "Mysticale Thoughtes" inside his bag, when-"

"What?! How?"

"That is what I was about to ask you."

"But you know that I revealed nothing to the boy, else he would not have followed you!"

"Well how else would he have come upon a magical text? Tell me!"

"I have no copy of the book to give him! Perhaps Gaius..."

Morgana shook her head impatiently. "No- I checked the bowl. Gaius cannot have shown him anything. Neither did you. I cannot think who it is. I fear he may have some measure of our plans..."

"Then we must act without delay."

"I am dealing with that- but I am worried about Arthur's Knights. My visions tell me something you have failed to mention up till now." Her eyes grew dark and her lips pursed into a determined line. "It seems that Leon is keen to come after the King."

Agravaine stuttered in surprise- but really, after all these months of conniving with her, he should have known better. Of course she would be keeping an eye on the kingdom whilst she was away; he had been foolish and complacent to think otherwise. He was just so keen to demonstrate that he was performing well in his own regard- to glean some scraps of praise from her that he thought it inconsequential to gloss over the growing dissent amongst Arthur's Knights, not to mention the steps he was taking to constrain it. Morgana was too independent to sit around waiting for information from others when she possessed a frightening arsenal of ways to extract it for herself. She was servant to no man- it would never be that way; she always had to be the one pulling the strings, she alone had to be the one overseeing her domain, not him. He was dispensable, and although he liked to think that he had his uses, a stubborn part of him was reminded of her cavalier ways. Morgana did not fawn and praise and encourage; she manipulated, subjugated and oppressed. That was her way- and he did not wish to be at the receiving end. Quickly, he outlined some of what Leon had been saying for the past few days since Arthur's departure.

"Indeed," Morgana remarked tartly. "And next time, perhaps you would be so good as to be honest with me next time, my dear?"

The subtle threat lingering behind her honeyed words was not lost upon her Chief Spy; he gulped and nodded meekly, a far cry from the domineering spectacle he was when presented in front of Court. However, something at the back of his mind bristled in resentment at the unspoken rebuke; hadn't there also been a glitch in the plan from her end? Why was he being humbled before her when Merlin clearly had her worried?

"Yes, My Lady." He hoped that his apology did not sound too strained or insincere.

"Fortunately, I had seen this coming."

"As only you would," he complimented her hastily, hoping to salvage some of his reputation. She ignored his words, continuing thus:

"And I have a solution; what is the one thing that will frustrate any efforts to rescue my dear brother?"

"His death?" Agarvaine guessed casually and was highly gratified to see a quick flash of surprise on Morgana's face- clearly, she had not been expecting him to catch on so fast. No, she had wanted to play the dramatic way. Well, he had pre-empted her- now she had to face the fact that he was not as useless as she liked to imagine.

"R-Right," she affirmed tightly; "So find and bribe a man. No, go to my house and get a jar of the Fomorroh- use that, instead. Tell him through the creature to run to the Castle crying "The King is Dead"! Pretend to listen. Call a meeting. Make up a story and then announce yourself Regent."

Agravaine smiled as a plan formed at the back of his head.

"Of course, by the time I return, Arthur really will be dead- and I will be Queen of Camelot," Morgana added slyly before her expression grew sharp once more and her militaristic tone returned. "I expect you to see to it without any mistakes?"

"Your wish is my command, My Lady."

* * *

"THE KING IS DEAD! THE KING IS DEAD! THE KING IS DEAD!"

Simon, son of Eldric ran full-pelt through the stunned citadel, weeping and tearing his hair, stumbling over the ground and crashing into shocked men and weeping women.

"THE KING IS DEAD! THE KING IS DEAD! THE KING IS DEAD!"

Elyan dropped the hammer he had been using as the horrible wail he had been dreaded sounded from outside the forge. With a heavy heart and tears in his eyes, he sprang to the door and dashed upwards after the source of the voice, willing the news to be untrue, but knowing the worst in his heart.

"Sir!" he choked, hailing the man. "Sir! Please..."

"Sir Elyan," Simon greeted him in a calmer voice. "Elyan, the King is dead. And Merlin. And..."

With a strangled gasp, Elyan fell to his knees, shaking his head.

"No," he whispered, clenching his fists. "No, she cannot..."

"Sir Elyan..."Simon muttered, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck absent-mindedly; something uncomfortable had been squirming and itching there since morning. He would go and see the Court Physician about it later. Now, there was terrible news to break. With a sympathetic pat for the distraught brother, he spun on his heel, racing to the Castle yelling:

"THE KING IS DEAD! THE KING IS DEAD! THE KING IS DEAD!"

* * *

The mood in the Court room was solemn and aggrieved. Tears flowed quietly down a multitude of faces even as the Royal Crown Bearer told them to look forward to a new age. Arms stood rigidly by the sides of their owners and mouths were held still with fear. Outside, rain lashed at the ground once more and the sky growled and howled like a hungry beast, threatening to unleash its fury on the ground in the form of a terrible thunderstorm.

Finally, the doors to the Court Room opened and a man strode in, wearing a cloak with the insignia of Camelot upon its back. He wore the Royal chain mail and carried the ceremonial sword in his scabbard. A satisfied smirk coloured his face as the people bowed to him upon passing. It seemed like an eternity before he reached the head of the room where a large throne with a crimson couch awaited. He stepped onto the raised platform, back still turned to the people and the Royal Crown Bearer, visibly quaking in his boots, shuffled forward holding the celebrated Crown in gnarled, withered hands.

"By the sacred laws invested in me, I crown you Agravaine Pendragon Du Bois, King of Camelot."

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**NEXT TIME:** The countdown for Arthur Pendragon begins...

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Were you expecting that? Please say no!


	2. Chapter 11- The Everlasting Moonlight

**Chapter 11- The Everlasting Moonlight**

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"NOOOOO!"

Merlin sat up in the dark cabin, shivering violently. His skin was frigid and clammy, his eyes like balls of tanzanite ice. Agitated hands clutched at his hair, the pillow, the quilt- anything that could relieve him of that horrible image he had just been assaulted by.

The dream hadn't been violent- it hadn't even been physically frightening. But only Merlin would ever be able to detect the lingering aura of menace and sparkling danger induced by his vision. And even now, as he happened to glance out of the window straight into the moonlit midnight, straight into an unapologetically flat, icy expanse of nothingness decorated with ominous jagged shapes that loomed out of every angle of vision as Conquest rocked uncomfortably around him, his sense of agonised trepidation increased sevenfold. After a few minutes of staring around him in blind confusion, Merlin climbed gingerly out of bed and fumbled about clumsily in the dark for a candle and a match... Now, the cabin was illuminated in a shimmering, eerie light and he could see Arthur lying wide awake, gazing at him in concern. For a moment, the two men said nothing, only listened and observed until Merlin realized that he was the curiosity in this whole affair; he had screamed in the night, and he must have looked terrible anyway, all dishevelled, drenched in perspiration with terror-filled eyes.

"I..." He coughed abruptly, breaking the silence. "I... had a bad dream."

Arthur did not reply immediately, only scrutinised the other man more until Merlin broke eye contact and busied himself with a stray apple lying on the bedside table.

"So did I," he agreed unusually gently, making his friend turn back to him in surprise. "At least it isn't true."

Merlin frowned, wiping cold sweat from his brow and leaning forward intently. "What are you talking about, Arthur?"

"It... Never mind. It can't matter at this moment, anyway." The King of Camelot shivered and sat up, presumably intrigued by the insidious, prickling coldness that permeated their cabin. Merlin watched Arthur's eyes widen as he took in the moonlit scene; the malignant rocks that jutted out of the water at every turn, the invisible lumps of ice that must surely be responsible for this unholy temperature, the way the brilliance of the stars was obscured behind a sheen of milk thrown about over this flat calm by a full and dominant moon. "_Lake_ Moon..." he murmured unexpectedly; "That is what this place must be called."

Merlin, usually the man to figure out time and place long before Arthur was at this moment highly perplexed and slightly worried; he knew that his friend had not been quite there since Guinevere's brutal abduction, but the distant stream of speech that seemed to have no purpose or direction was hard to decode, even for a man who concealed his emotions.

"Lake Moon?" Why was that place so familiar all of a sudden?

"Remember what that old man said? "Lake Moon leaves few survivors." Ironic, isn't it?"

"Arthur..." Merlin interjected, but that horrible prickling at the bottom of his stomach had started again. Yes, there had been that old man on that abysmal, rainy day in Grignael, and he had prophesied... no, he couldn't have known that...

"...I remembered it just now. This must be the place."

"Arthur... are you sure you know what you are talking about? W-What is the significance of this place?"

The King turned indifferent eyes back to Merlin, though a thoughtful frown lingered behind.

"I do not know."

That was the worst part.

* * *

"Captain? Captain!"

A man with a figure composite to that of a refined, undeniably straight twig whirled around as though he was a human reincarnation of a common spinning top. Hard, searing eyes pierced the skin of the anxious man who had addressed him and his mouth tightened in the manner of the ropes that held masts and sails up straight- quickly and without hesitation.

"Yes?"

"Captain, are we off course?"

"No."

The commander-in-chief was a devotee to the art of monosyllabic answers; never had he been known to partake of a conversation where more eloquent speech was required, and should he be caught in such a tragic state of affairs, then it was not uncommon for him to quickly withdraw his presence from the rest and retreat back into the mysterious, brooding silence that suited him best. As far as he was concerned, there was no problem with this surly, taciturn arrangement; he was in charge of the vessel, and his word was the law. And what easier way to execute a law than to simply bark one syllable and watch the masses scurry to obey his command? In this case, he had not hesitated to issuing a curt reply to the man who had hailed him so informally, and was on the verge of spinning off once more in his original direction when he came to the unpleasant realization that his esteemed reply was not going to sit comfortably with the questioner.

"Are you sure, Captain?"

He whirled backwards on one heel and stepped closer to the other man, a finger and a thumb threading their way tentatively through his pencil moustache.

"Am I sure?" he repeated slyly, now taking to circling the questioner and revelling in the latter's distinct discomfort. "Am I sure?"

"It-It's just that... My hourglass tells me twelve hours have elapsed... and yet there is no sign of daylight."

The Captain threw back his head and laughed, a rich, mellow, frightening sound that ricocheted off the narrow walls, slid between cracks in the wooden slats and made the many candles above them tremble in their iron holders.

"The moon is my fault!" he cried, pretending to wipe at his eyes. "The moon is my fault!"

"No, that isn't what I meant- I was just curious to know what route this was. I have travelled to the northern kingdoms before and-"

"-And so have I, young man!" The interruption was curt and razor sharp; there was no sign of the comical display of amusement before. "We are not off course!"

And with that shameless lie, the Captain spun off again, back in the path along which he had been heading all this time, leaving a bewildered and perplexed trader in his wake.

* * *

After the Captain had disappeared into the musty gloom that greeted all those walking along this particular gangway, Merlin and Arthur crept out from behind the opposite corner and sidled towards the trader.

"Excuse me-sir?" Merlin began carefully, smoothing his neckerchief for moral support. When he had captured the attention of his quarry, he cleared his throat and continued in a smoother manner: "I heard you voice some kind of concern... about where we are..."

Something akin to uneasy suspicion crossed the man's eyes, not even deterred by Merlin's clear and honest expression. Had he known that both men standing before him had decided to do some snooping about the rocking vessel, he might have been more openly mistrustful of them. They way they stood together, like a team, weight shifting from different parts of their feet spoke of trained Knights, though the skinnier one did not look capable of even holding a sword. Yet... He was possessed by an air that was hard to pinpoint... No, once the suspicion had appeared, it settled there, and nestled amongst those jaded brown orbs and caused the corners of his mouth to droop downwards, as though he had nothing more to say.

"Then you must have heard the response," he grunted noncommittally. "Don't see what it has to do with you- tell me, are you out of your boyhood years yet?"

Merlin would have spent a few moments deliberating over whether to ignore the jibe or respond to it in a manner worthy of a fully-grown man when Arthur cut in abruptly.

"We are as intrigued by our location as you are; perhaps you could enlighten us about this situation?"

Maybe it was the customary, natural authority that underpinned Arthur's voice, or maybe his presence itself, broad-shouldered and confident despite his inner turmoil, or maybe it was nothing more than how Arthur's gaze never wavered when fixed upon a sole object. Either way, the trader forgot his previous churlishness and eyed the blond curiously as though he recognized him.

"I-uh... Whom might you be, sir?"

"You have some information for me?" Arthur prodded pointedly, ignoring the question. It would be voluntary suicide to divulge his identity to a man he did not know in full knowledge of Morgana's presence somewhere on the vessel. Briefly, he mentally thanked Merlin for insisting on the change of clothes.

"I... I am a learned man, sir- I have read many things and studied under many eminent defenders of the art. I have sailed many a time, and seen many wonderful things. Never, in my whole life, have I come upon a place more godforsaken and full of the repugnant odour of death as these waters, sir. Never."

Arthur stared at him dumbly in the aftermath of this elaborately chilling screed. On an impulse, he glance at Merlin, whose eyes were fixed on his with the same pronounced unease. What was this trader talking about? Was he trying to imply, that by some unfortunate vice, the two men had landed themselves into some sort of unusual danger? How had they not foreseen this?

"You know of these waters, then?" the King asked finally. Better to probe some more, extricate as much information from their quarry than to relapse into perpetual, congealed ignorance. "You must have read many maps, for sure."

"I know nothing of this place save for what I feel," the trader replied evasively, swivelling his eyes away from them far too fast for someone who purported to be a hapless victim of the Captain's decision. Arthur cottoned onto this shady answer immediately, and he took a leisurely step forward, his steely eyes never leaving those of his victim. "I, I... have just... heard things, is all."

"Have you heard the place "Lake Moon"?" Arthur demanded softly. The results were instant and dangerously conclusive; a frission of fear swept into the trader's expression, and yellowed teeth ground themselves into his parched lips as he fought to regain his composure. "I see that you have. So would you mind telling us about it? The more helpful you are, the better for all of us."

"Sir, I cannot..." the trader whimpered, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder. "T'would mean death if..."

"Who is blackmailing you?" Arthur guessed; his surmise was devastatingly accurate, and elicited a deep chill which trickled down the back of his spine at a snail's pace. He suddenly felt very frightened indeed. Maybe during his phases of overwhelming fear caused by Guinevere's disappearance, the reality of what he had signed himself up for had been lost upon the King- he had simply followed his aching, shattered heart filled with optimistic visions of how he would manage Morgana's latest cruel device. Now that the dawn of realization had broken, his eyes were wider and his mind was intrigued with his environment beyond that of the main driving factor that had brought him to this titanic vessel with her strange array of merchants, sailing hands and traders. He was curious for answers, curious about his surroundings, curious about a myriad of other trifling occurrences that made no sense under the proverbial magnifying glass, though they had been brushed aside beforehand. He could now appreciate that nothing in this parallel universe made any sense, or fit the requirements of a normal adventure.

Something was very wrong- and even if Arthur was not a seasoned warrior, he should have known it from the start. After all, where Morgana was concerned, there could be no question of her shying away from the most underhand and vicious vices in order to achieve her dreaded aim. That much should have been clear. And if the niggling suspicion that was starting to take root in his mind was correct, she was in it to the hilt, even binding innocent men with her deadly charms as a security, forcing them to hold their peace or else rest in peace.

But what could Arthur say? It would be, once more a terrible decision to confront the trader about Morgana, an even worse one to ask if he knew of Guinevere's whereabouts. To walk away now would seem rather strange, and to blindly accept the man's frenzied screed when he had been so dubious of it before was not going to work either.

He was trapped in every way until a horrible diversion came.

* * *

A screech, a piercing scream and then a multitude of terrified howls erupted almost simultaneously.

All three men gazed at the roof of the gangway, which throbbed and pulsed like a frantic heartbeat, obviously under pressure from the drum-like rhythm of footsteps criss-crossing each other convulsively on the passageway above them. Without another word, Arthur and Merlin took their leave and ran to the nearest ladder that would take them to the deck, solve this new riddle.

They did not have far to climb, but the minute they set foot upon solid ground again, they were almost knocked over by a deluge of petrified bodies with bulging, bloodshot eyes, outstretched arms and claw-like fingers all headed their way. If they hadn't automatically ducked to either side (a testament to how attuned both men were to each other), it would not have been rash to assume that they might have been killed in the ensuing crush- in any case, when they had uncovered their eyes and ears, it was to see perhaps forty or fifty men scream as the ladder leading downwards gave way and they tumbled onto the wooden slats below, bodies clashing and jarring together and apart. Bones must have been broken, muscles must have been torn, consciousness must have been stolen. And for what? What had frightened the commonplace merchants to the extent that they would flee their chambers in the middle of the night... but was it the middle of the night? Where was the morning sun?

Merlin stood up gingerly and ran over to Arthur, who was massaging his arm.

"You alright?"

"Hmmm," Arthur replied nonchalantly, though he winced a couple of times as he jumped to his feet. "It is quiet," he noticed all of a sudden, scanning the deserted gangway with growing malaise. "Too quiet. The problem must be outside the vessel."

"Which way to the deck?" Merlin whispered, as though he had caught wind of the need for stealth in order to define the cause of the problem.

"I assume we move forward... Keep to that side of the wall... And Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"Don't do anything stupid."

* * *

Guinevere awoke with a violent start, and immediately, her aching arms rushed to cradle her stomach, which was unused to this strange rhythm Conquest made as she ploughed through the water. It was no use; she could feel the bile zipping to the back of her throat and no sooner than she had scrambled to the nearest empty bowl lying on the ground, sickeningly warm liquid was pouring out of her mouth. She probably looked like some parody of a particularly twisted gargoyle, spewing out the contents of her unsettled stomach into one, two, three small bowls, leaving a trail of slime between each. When she had finished, she slumped back onto the ground, moaning in pain until she came to some sort of agreement with consciousness and roused herself from her feverish stupor.

Morgana had still not returned... and to her left, that dreaded copy of "Mysticale Thoughtes" still lay open at the page that had revealed the very worst of the High Priestess' crooked mind. All those warped visions flooded her in moments, and she rose to her feet, quaking in terror. Rushing back to that table, she peered outside once more- yes, this must be the place where Arthur was to be killed: Lake Moon. So named for the eternal full moon that shone like its daylight counterpart over these lifeless waters and accompanied by a cold of the worst kind. What little colour had been inside her face had drained away abruptly, all the remaining moisture in her lips evaporated. The crimson cuts on that once-sensuous mouth congealed and began to sting, and her once-able fingers began to freeze.

Again, she had to wake herself up, this time by clearing away her vomit and cleaning herself up. How she could think of such mundane tasks at a time like this was beyond imagination, but Guinevere was known to resort to extreme distraction when caught up in a sticky trail of unfortunate incidences- somehow her mind was wired to tune out of her conscious and devote itself to distraction with inconsequential things like empting the bowls down the privy, sponging her face with water, replacing the copy of "Mysticale Thoughtes" exactly as she found it, and brushing- yes, even brushing her hair.

It could only last for so long- the minute everything in the chamber had been set to rights, she fell onto the ground and began to cry.

* * *

There were times when Arthur believed in uncommon good luck imbued with just a touch of something suspiciously like magic- such times would be when he swung Excalibur in battle and watched his enemies drop like flies. There were times when Arthur was fairly sure that some occurrences were slightly unreal, like when Guinevere would lean in and kiss his mouth with the kind of passion sufficient to disorient ten men... And there were times when Arthur Pendragon, the hardened realist was convinced that he could not be living reality.

Except he was.

He was genuinely standing on the deck of Conquest in full view of the source of terror for Conquest's men. If he had not been swamped in a horrified silence and conveniently struck deaf and dumb, he might have pinched his arm for reassurance that what he was seeing was as real and as true as his honour.

A giant serpent as black as the will of the Devil coiled and uncoiled its endless length just a few feet away from Conquest. A giant... serpent, with malevolent, piercing emerald eyes and satanic fangs that glinted enticingly off silky beams of moonlight and a livid pink tongue that drooped down, almost brushing the surface of the water. A gargantuan serpent that had the audacity to cast the great Conquest into shadow, had the audacity to steal the glory afforded by the moonlight and let it wash over its scaly skin. A serpent that was so confident and assured of its malignant power, it randomly chose to break the surface of the water, and bask in the night, hissing all the while as a constant reminder of its identity... It knew that nothing, much less anyone would dare to inch any closer to it- wasn't their liquid anticipation flowing off the way those coils shimmered and glistened?

Suddenly, there was a halt in the swaying and a pronounced hiss.

The next minute, Arthur Pendragon was backed up against a stack of crates, staring into the most fearsome pair of eyes and fangs he had ever chanced to see in his life, whilst a hollow scream sounded off in the distance. The serpent had suddenly lunged to its left and was inches away from the King, fixing him with a hungry, hypnotic stare, watching Arthur quiver and freeze with pulsating fright. Rancid breath clogged the King's nose and his eyes swam out of focus... Was this an enchantment? Was this how he was to die, being swallowed whole by this deviant monstrosity? Arthur could not bring himself to answer these paralysed questions, could not bring himself to wonder where Merlin was, could not bring himself to wonder if he would ever see his beautiful Guinevere again...

Time was slowing down, uncoiling itself and skidding to a halt, whilst there was the bells of death tolled loud and strong inside his ears. He was falling asleep, falling into a cavern, drowning in a Lake... He was slipping, gliding, spinning and whirling away from the black night into an even darker Abyss... The chasm awaited him, devilish arms held out wide, and Morgana's laughter rang in his ears- those must have been the bells... Morgana...

"Serpenta, do not eat my dear brother!"

That voice... Arthur heard himself utter a vague sound as the clashing and clanging inside his head grew to a terrible crescendo and the warm pink cavern of an oversized throat loomed on the horizon. Someone was crying in the distance, someone else was laughing... And if he had glanced over to his left, he would have seen a tearful girl steeping outside cautiously to find out what was disrupting her copious weeping. That voice... He knew that voice, with its lilting sing-song tones that had become the bane of his existence since the days of the Old King. He did not have to open his eyes to associate that voice with flowing black tresses, chalky white skin and flashing emerald eyes- she might as well have been the human incarnation of Serpenta; she mirrored his attributes in every way.

"Serpenta... do as I say," the voice repeated gently, but when it was not obeyed, Arthur heard an ominous incantation, a counter-incantation and a violent rush of wind. A shower of sparks exploded behind his eyes and then he was sinking down onto something hard and there was a dull thud before everything went black.

* * *

"What was that, Merlin?"

The suave Fury sidled closer to her crying victim with a dazed expression, but even her menacing steps did not yield an answer.

"You were standing in such a manner that I might have assumed the source of that... magic must have come from you!"

That brought Merlin back to reality; his face set into a rigid posture almost immediately as it had been accustomed to do when magic was concerned.

"I saw nothing except you subdue the snake."

Morgana frowned and shook her head in confusion, temporarily forgetting that she was conversing so calmly with her reluctantly sworn enemy. "No... I can't have; nothing can subdue Serpenta! I read it in Golyn Tat-" She cut herself off hastily and glared at Merlin- now, she knew who she was talking to, now she remembered the part that she must play- now, she backed away with the beginnings of a cunning smile on her shapely lips. "Watch your back, Merlin," she lisped before she spun around and began to walk away.

"What do you know of Golyn Tatael?" Merlin called after her suddenly.

She froze in place, her eyes darkened. After the most frightening minute in the world, she risked a peek over her shoulder at her nemesis, as though even she, the High Priestess was fearful of what she might find. And in truth, Merlin was unnerving- it wasn't anything she could define, it wasn't anything she could even prove, but it was there. The way he had almost casually called out Tatael's name was a clear example. It reminded her of her previous unease that he should be in possession of a copy of-

"You stole my copy of "Mysticale Thoughtes", didn't you, Morgana?" he continued quietly. "You need that book... something inside it is helping you, isn't it?"

Yes, it was becoming clear now in Merlin's head, that day on the docks of Grignael where he had been roused from unconsciousness to find that the strange gift from a random old man had been deliberately removed from his possession. Morgana's slip of the tongue had proven it for definite, and now he could only watch to see what she would do to betray herself even further.

Strangely, it wasn't Morgana who dealt the next blow, but another voice, a familiar one from the distance, one that reminded Merlin of sunshine and laughter even though it was hoarse and diminished.

"It's a trap!"

Merlin glanced up abruptly. That couldn't be-

Morgana whirled round to face the source of the warning. "Get back inside this minute!" she snarled, stretching out her hand. "Get back inside now!"

"Its a trap, Merlin! You must leave this place!"

"Gwen!" the warlock whispered, wincing in preparation for the spell Morgana would use to subdue her captive... Except that it never came. Sure, Morgana lunged for the girl and twisted her arm behind her back, eliciting a scream of pain that might have roused the dead.. But Morgana did not use any kind of spell.

And that was strange. This woman whose ambition was as feared as it was legendary had just shirked from using magic to cover her tracks?

"Almost as though she was keeping Gwen alive," Merlin murmured as the two women disappeared back inside. "Almost as though she really _wanted_ to keep Gwen alive..."

* * *

**NEXT TIME:** Morgana's eyes are everywhere- because she is agitated...

* * *

I made a real effort to make this as dark and foreboding as possible- the book is meant to be about death, after all... Remember ALL will be revealed!


	3. Chapter 12- Decoding The Cipher

**Hi! SORRY for the long break- I was kind of stuck on how to continue this story, and I had loads of revision. I appreciate that it has been three weeks, so here is a quick-fire reminder of events so far:**

**- Morgana has lured Arthur to Lake Moon.**

**- Agravaine has seized power in Camelot, crowning himself King behind Arthur's back and against Morgana's orders (no one seemed to pick up on the fact that she explicitly said he should announce himself as REGENT, NOT KING: "_Call a meeting. Make up a story and then announce yourself_ Regent."** **(Morgana, Chapter 10)**

**- Arthur and Merlin have had simultaneous nightmares, which are important. Arthur is beginning to appreciate that he is in a serious, sinister and dangerous situation.**

**- They have tried to glean information from a merchant about their location only to discover that he is being blackmailed by someone. Just when Arthur is about to be caught, there is a disturbance, and the King comes face to face with the first horror of Lake Moon, Serpenta.**

**- You may have guessed that Merlin's counter-enchantment subdued the creature, but left Arthur out cold, during which time Morgana accidentally divulges the source of her plans to Merlin. **

**- Guinevere tries to warn Merlin based on what she learnt at the end of Book One, and Morgana subdues her, but does not harm/kill her.**

**- Merlin is wondering why Morgana is so keen to keep Gwen alive.**

**Does this help? My chapters are quite long, so not everyone will want to go back and reread. Will edit/change if people find unhelpful. **

**Oh, and I had to change the "NEXT TIME" feature for Chapter 11, as I changed my mind when writing this.**

**Right, onto the story...**

* * *

**Chapter 12- Decoding the Cipher**

After dragging Arthur back inside whilst keeping a wary eye out for Morgana, Merlin paused to rest against a panelled wall, trying to catch his breath. Once accomplished, he cradled the prone heavyweight in his arms, running frantic fingers around the neck and chest for a pulse... it was there- and strong, but Arthur was not awake. Forcing himself not to panic, he gently shook the King's face. Nothing was happening, however, so Merlin felt no compunction in murmuring the fastest enchantment he could think of. A few tortured seconds of silence were enough to frighten the warlock, but in due course Arthur stirred... and sometime later, he was sitting up, staring into nothingness in a haunting silence.

Somehow, the flashing emerald behind his eyeballs faded enough to allow him a glimpse of dark blue eyes filled with tears of concern.

"Merlin..." he slurred, rubbing at his temple, until he could see ahead clearly. "Am I... dead?"

"Thankfully not; you fell unconscious- I, ah, had to revive you."

"_You?!_ Well... that is a surprise, but I suppose... after seeing that giant... serpent, anything is possible..." The frequent lapses in between various clauses showed Merlin that Arthur was still not quite with it, and this frightened him; he was braver than most people realized, and yet even now, he was jittery. They had landed themselves in a sinister web, an unknown cog run by crooks, hiding from their nemesis and had just brushed with death at the hands of a watery monstrosity. Yes, Merlin's nerves were almost at breaking point, but he wiped at his eyes and pulled the King into a standing position.

"We need to get back to the cabin, but the ladder is still gone, and I don't want to run into Morgana again, so I am not sure what to do. We still don't know our way around this vessel."

The mention seemed to awaken a previous memory in Arthur's head, because his eyes swung into focus, and his expression melded from delirious to sombre- in other words, back to his default outlook. "Morgana... where did she go...?"

"She disappeared back inside; I wanted to go after her, but you were out cold and I panicked- You were seriously shaken, maybe even hurt, I... Sorry." He deliberately failed to mention what had happened to Guinevere; all in good time- or never.

Arthur observed him quietly and intently for a moment, then he gestured briskly to the floorboard opening. They approached the hole leading below with great care, peering down into an eerie candlelit cavern. None of the previous men who had fallen in such a precarious heap were there any more; perhaps they had rushed off in fear- who knew? Whatever had happened, this level was dangerous, and neither of them would feel at all secure until they were cocooned well below deck. Arthur crouched down and tested the distance with his eyes- from the set of his mouth, Merlin could tell that the King did not fancy his chances. There was another option- hunting around for pillows and the like to cushion their fall, but the risk of running into Morgana or a collaborator far outweighed the benefits...

* * *

Speaking of whom, the lady in question twisted a small vial in her hands whilst glowering at a bleeding Guinevere who was drawn into herself, weeping silently. When she got round to it, she would enjoy killing her captive- in front of Arthur, to cause him even more pain. Yes, he would go much more willingly to his untimely demise in the aftermath of watching his precious serving girl screaming and writhing in agony, and him being powerless to stop it. Her lips twisted upwards in rage as she savoured the notion of a triple murder, and one that she would achieve. But... Lingering doubts assailed her mind, and most of them concerned the unnatural prescience of that dreaded Merlin. How had he realized that she was using "Mysticale Thoughtes" to formulate her plan? Calm... she had to think; her natural predilection to turn to anger was not going to clear the air any more than moping around... or even performing the Bleeding Curse on Guinevere, as much as she deserved it.

Merlin... He was the most irritating young man alive, by all counts. How could one stay one step ahead no matter how much wool had been pulled over his eyes? Why was he so... intelligent, why was he so insanely brave? And on that note, how had Serpenta been subdued with him as the only witness? She might have been mad, but she knew about the streamlined nature of submission hexes, and... well, was it too much to assume that the source had come from Merlin's direction? She had said as much, but had not believed herself fully.

No. No- it couldn't be. The idea remained solvent, but it just was a stretch of her imagination. Merlin was at fault, being so unsettling; he had the manner of a weasel. She hissed and rose up, striding towards the window. Drumming her fingers on the wooden sill didn't work, neither did gawping through the brittle window pane, nor pouring herself a glass of milk. Finally, she spun around and took out her anger on the easiest victim to hand.

"Stop whimpering, you coward! It'll be worse than that if you dare step out of line again."

"Why not j-just kill me now?" Guinevere choked, still somehow mustering enough courage to face her oppressor squarely in the eye. "That's what you want, isn't it? What is stopping you?"

"Because, my dear, I want Arthur to _watch_. I want him to absorb every detail as you crash and burn for your presumptuous arrogance and treachery. And then, I want him to live in the knowledge that you led him here- to his death."

"If you lay a finger on him, you will be sorry, you..." Tears cracked her voice even further. "There are more people who care about him..."

"But where are they, Gwen? Do they know where Arthur is? How can they find a man who is trapped in a location known to few men? You can't tell me. Ah, it is understandable; you love him so deeply- it is sickening how pathetic you are, a willing servant to foolish love. But you are wrong, Gwen, and you will take your naiveté to the grave. Don't worry; Arthur will follow you soon enough."

"Why are you being like this? What has he ever done to you?"

"Are you really asking me that question? Can you really defend a man moulded in the ways of his father- don't interrupt with that same old spiel about Arthur not being the same as Uther. Magic is not legal- how do you defend that? What have my kind done to him?"

Guinevere had no answer for that, not because she agreed with Uther's treatment of those with magic, for her resentment towards him still festered within her, even two years since his death. No, the reason she was speechless was because of what she had seen on the deck an hour ago. Merlin... her best friend, stretching out his hand towards the gargantuan beast and his eyes lighting up into a fiery shade of amber. The sight had transcended her terror at seeing Arthur- the man who meant absolutely everything to her in every way possible- so close to a horrible death, at Morgana standing there smiling, at the slim prospect of her own survival. Merlin had magic- not only that, he had managed to cloak his true self so well that Arthur, herself, everyone else would never have guessed. She now bore this terrible secret all to herself- made even more confusing by what she had seen...

He had used magic to save Arthur's life.

Come to think of it, was that the first time? She might never know that the answer was no.

* * *

Just as Arthur and Merlin were about to slump their shoulders in resignation, a shadow crossed the flickering candle-light below and Arthur instinctively pulled Merlin back out of the way. They listened carefully, pressed flat against the end of the gangway as several scraping sounds emerged and then the pronounced clunk of polished footsteps steadily making their way closer and closer. When both watching men looked at each other, the same thought was confirmed; someone had replaced the ladder and was climbing up to the first level.

But were they friend, foe, or neither? The King was not exactly eager to find out- on the other hand, whoever was coming up the ladder would see them both instantly, so they had no choice but to stand there and hope that Merlin could concoct a good excuse for their presence on a completely deserted part of the cog. They certainly weren't marooned there to enjoy the nauseating rocking motions of the vessel, that was for sure.

The man, it transpired, was the same Captain Merlin had seen earlier, though they had not spoken. Arthur and Merlin couldn't help feeling rather apprehensive about his appearance, as though there was something about him that didn't quite add up- in fact, said King could feel his hands trembling a little as the twig-like form was unveiled in militaristic precision. He paused curiously as he caught sight of Arthur, who was almost killing himself in attempting to appear calm, then his eyes swivelled in perfect synchronisation to capture those of Merlin, who was fiddling with his neckerchief.

"Gentlemen," he barked, removing himself from the hole entirely. "Explanation?" A sharp swing of an arm around him showed he was demanding to know why they were on the first level, which had been reserved for men directly involved in commandeering the cog.

"We do, ah have one," Merlin assured him, fishing the permission scrolls from inside his jacket instantly. (Boy is a genius, Arthur murmured under his breath as he relaxed, unclenching his stomach muscles). The Captain was unsettled, having previously expected his rank alone to have intimidated this odd, mismatched pair, especially the blond man who seemed to be of distinguished breeding... He sniffed imperiously as he shoved the scrolls back in Merlin's direction without so much as looking at the contents, and warned them that they had better stick to their quarters for the duration of their stay. As he was about to turn the corner at the opposite end, Arthur called him back unexpectedly.

"Did you not see the merchants who descended further down earlier?"

"No. Otherwise engaged."

"But surely if your men were much agitated, it should have been your concern? What about those rowing the cog- you didn't check on them!" The King ignored Merlin's warning glances; he knew that making a name for himself as a man who stuck out like a sore thumb was counter-productive, but being a leader, he was unused to such careless practice where lives were concerned. "What kind of Captain has no idea when there is any kind of trouble?"

"Oh look: Sir Moral High-ground!" The Captain stomped back towards Arthur with a vicious sneer. "Your Royal Ass; I am the CAPTAIN. I speak, you listen- so shut it. Or you go overboard." With a raspy chuckle at his tasteless joke, he spun around a full half-turn and marched down to the end of the corridor, completely disappearing from sight.

"And I thought _you_ were arrogant!" Merlin couldn't help teasing, and a bemused Arthur had to at least crack a smile.

* * *

Now the King lay on his back in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling above him as Merlin tottered about restlessly, babbling away as an outlet for his confused thoughts. From time to time, he tuned in, only to be dragged out as other worries jostled for his attention. It was only when a shadow crossed over his face that he glanced up to see Merlin standing over him with an expectant look.

"What is it?"

"So you _haven't_ been listening to anything I said- but that is hardly surprising. Come on, Arthur; pay attention, this is serious. We have to de-construct events as they happened else we will not find out what Morgana is up to."

"I'm too tired to think," Arthur complained, rubbing at his temples again. "I just want to find Guinevere- I need her."

Sympathy prevented Merlin from issuing a sarcastic reminder that his suggestion to unravel events was the only way to rescue the serving girl- instead, he nudged Arthur's elbow gently and kindly reiterated the need for complete cooperation. Thankfully, the King nodded halfway through and looked a little more interested, albeit rather drowsy.

"Alright- thanks. Now, we need to start from the beginning; when was the first time you noticed anything was amiss?"

"When we were outside that day and I thought... well, I just noticed Guinevere seemed tired- I should have probed further, I just left her all alone for the rest of-"

"Blaming yourself isn't going to help. Besides, she would have lied in all cases, anyway."

Arthur closed his eyes in pain, accepting the truth. "Why won't she understand that she can tell me anything? If she had said-"

"-There will be plenty of time to discuss communication when we find her. And anyway," Merlin added more seriously as a thought occurred to him; "You told the Court and Isabelle that you suspected the kidnapping was an inside job- how do you know that Gwen might still have been safe whether she told you anything or not?"

"Perhaps."

"Anyway, you thought she might be tired- later on, you went for the Council Meeting. I asked her what was wrong, and she said quote: _"I don't feel very well"_ and _"I don't remember him"_ and _"I found something... It is all very strange"._ I was about to ask her more questions when... when, um, Agravaine interrupted and asked after your whereabouts... Arthur? Is everything alright?"

Arthur did not actually display any signs of being upset any further; it was only that Merlin knew him well enough to discern the subtlest of changes in his mood. Not only that, he could accurately detect when the change had been brought about- precisely when he had mentioned Agravaine. He also recalled his nightmare from a few hours back with escalating unease, though he repressed this in order to attend to Arthur. The King did not reply to the enquiry at once; he grimaced, then sighed, then shook his head- Merlin could get nothing coherent out of him, so the request was made again, with an edge of concern.

"Ag- my Uncle, he... No, its ridiculous. Forget it."

But Merlin could not forget the matter; he could not forget the persistent impression he got that there was more to Agravaine than met the eye, could not forget that strange note that had fluttered to the ground from his possession, could certainly not forget how Arthur's Uncle had cut in so abruptly as he was asking after Gwen's health with a lie about looking for Arthur, or how Gaius had glanced at him significantly in Court, or how the last glimpse of the man was of him stalking off soon after the door to Arthur's chambers was open. And that was before the most illogical and frighteningly coincidental piece of evidence; the word "Conquest" inscribed on the very same note, existing in Grignael, and being spoken by Morgana herself... The puzzle had really tried Merlin's powers of deduction, so anything Arthur could shed on the matter was of vital importance.

"Tell me, Arthur."

"No, we were discussing Guinevere; you left her after attending the meeting? Yes? Then, when did you discover her disappearance?" The sharp precision behind the relentless questioning told Merlin that Arthur was concealing a great deal of agitation- this was his key clue, and he was not going to allow it to slip out of his grasp so easily, regardless of the King's still slavish devotion to the importance of familial loyalty. Nevertheless, the issue had to be handled with care- antagonising Arthur was like stirring up a hornet's nest, particularly when he was already worried, upset or worse, really frightened and refused to admit it. The servant paused and smoothed down his neckerchief carefully.

"I woke up early to check on her and I couldn't find her at home. Instead I saw the adulterated milk, and Morgana's notes. When you came, we concluded that she had been drugged and the perpetrator was Morgana."

"So, this raises several more questions. When was she drugged?"

"The opium powder was in suspension, and produced the required effect, which tells me that it cannot have been done too many hours before Gwen woke up. Maybe the afternoon before? Where was she then?"

"In my chambers... Where did she go afterwards?"

"Probably had other chores. That would have been the most opportune time. But... how would someone have known where she was going so quickly?"

"Inside job."

"But who? This person must have been good at guessing that a servant would be out for most of the afternoon."

"Or Morgana could have told them."

Merlin nodded enthusiastically. "Right- that must be it. So, the drugging was done in the afternoon. Gwen woke up very early and drank milk- though she spat a lot of it out, there must have been enough added to keep her drowsy all day." He ignored Arthur's miserable expression after his conclusion. "Now... she said she didn't feel well- we know why. Next, she said _"I don't remember him"_- I have no idea what she meant- the only other man present was this apple merchant at the time."

Arthur clicked his fingers. "He was in the plot. He was watching her, to check the drug was working. Who else could she have been referring to? Think about it Merlin; it is actually a cunning idea, using what appears to be a common merchant to follow Guinevere around. But she is a servant, so she knows who delivers what food to the Castle, and she recognized that this was not the same man!"

"Right," Merlin assented, regarding the King in admiration. "Yes, that is what happened- it must be! Only problem is, we can't prove it, neither will the Knights. In fact, they will probably come up at a dead end since anyone who can provide proof is too far away to help."

"Not unless the perpetrator reveals himself."

* * *

"Then she referred to something she had found- I think that must be the note from Morgana. She was about to tell me, when Agravaine came along so sudd-, I mean, he appeared, and that was it." He played with his fingers momentarily before continuing: "So we know what she meant, and we know how she was drugged, who is behind it, and that we have been led here..."

"...But we do not know who is helping Morgana, what they know, where they are, where Guinevere is..."

"-Or what Morgana is after. She says that Gwen is after the throne- so why not kill her? Why is she playing around like this? And why didn't she kill you when she had the chance?"

"What about the serpent?"

"Maybe- but Morgana came out soon afterwards, perhaps... I don't know."

Arthur sat up in bed, and leant his back against the panelled wall, whilst Merlin took to swinging his legs off the window-side table. They were making some headway, but not in a clear, enlightening manner- in a fashion that was rather similar to climbing up a sheer interface made of rocks that crumbled and feel away even as they managed to climb upwards towards the truth. There were traps, pitfalls and yet more unanswered questions. There were guesses, theories, and most interestingly, things that neither man dared not divulge to the other (particularly from Merlin's side) despite the fact that they agreed it best to work with each other. Merlin was not going to mention what Morgana had done with Guinevere, or voice his apprehension towards Agravaine until he could soften Arthur up- the latter was keeping the lid on his nightmare for fear of alarming Merlin and another reason which he did not want to admit, not even to himself. They were partially holding each other back whilst blaming external circumstances and being relatively ignorant of their surroundings. It was unhelpful- and dangerously so.

Perhaps when they looked at each other after a small lapse into silence, they knew the other man was thinking the very same thing.

Anyhow, Arthur resumed their train of thought soon enough, narrating how they had progressed from the heated, uncomfortable atmosphere of Court to riding through a disheartening downpour towards Grignael, right the way through to stumbling upon that creaky lodge and finding traces of captor and captive; a laced cloak, a map with a path hewn out towards Conquest, and a grisly token of Morgana's affection- Guinevere's bloodied headscarf, at that moment concealed in one of the bags they had brought.

"Then you brought out that note."

Merlin had been desperately hoping that Arthur had forgotten about the tiny missive- evidently, to no avail. There was no harm trying to throw him off the scent, anyway. "Wh-What note?"

"It said, _350- gold coins- Thomas- Conquest_- I didn't appreciate how much of a coincidence it was at the time," Arthur continued, his tone becoming sharper in the way it did when he was beginning to unravel a problem, "but now I know; it cannot be chance. If we find whoever wrote that note, we will have found Morgana's accomplice."

If it had been possible for Merlin to freeze solid, into a vicious block of ice, he would have done so.

* * *

"I can prove it, too; we will have to get back onto the first level and seek out someone named Thomas."

"That is too difficult," Merlin rasped as his mind reeled around in shock. "There- there could be several Thomases all over the cog. Plus it is too risky; Morgana is lurking around, and-"

"No, we will only be searching on the first level Merlin; have you even read that note properly? 350 gold coins? You think a sailing hand can afford such a sum? The man has to be close to the Captain- maybe even_ be_ the Captain. If we probe hard enough, maybe we might find a document that would tell us who was paid 350 gold coins."

Merlin's shoulders sagged; it wasn't visible, even in the moonlight, and neither was the racing of his heart audible, but he could feel the chills of trepidation rushing through his body as he remembered once again that Arthur was no longer so oblivious compared to his days as Prince where his total ignorance had been a source of simultaneous amusement, relief and guilt. He had no option but to allow Arthur to take the reigns of investigation; it was the only way that would ease the weight of the blow.

"I... I don't really understand what you are getting at," he lied smoothly; "Perhaps you will have to pursue that line yourself." There- he hadn't forced Arthur into anything, he had left the avenue of conditionality open, and given Arthur control over his own suspicions. What could go wrong?

Plenty.

"Well," Arthur confessed quietly, not meeting Merlin's eyes directly; "I was thinking... that _you_ might do it; you being less of a risk than me." He peeked at his manservant, overwhelmed with guilt- which was entirely uncharacteristic- and was hasty to amend the situation; "If you need any help, I, ah... You know."

It was hardly surprising that Merlin was definitely apprehensive towards the idea, even if he usually never hesitated to put himself on the line for Arthur's sake; his motives were not selfish, however:

"If I leave you here on your own, how will I know if you are in trouble?" He knew that he could use his magic, but knowing Morgana, he might not be in time to save his King. "I would be constantly worrying about where you were, or I might come back and it would be too late, or... you know. This really isn't a great idea- let us just focus on Guinevere for now."

"No, the author of this note is central to the plan. They must be. In fact, I think they must have bribed someone here. But I don't know why."

* * *

For that would bring up the question of why they were even at this place called Lake Moon. And with Arthur's mind more agile than expected, the question of that elusive old man surfaced again, testing Merlin's resolve. One thing was completely clear; the King was insistent that Merlin find a man called Thomas- and even worse, he suddenly suggested that maybe the name was inscribed on the permission letters they had received.

It was. Thomas was one of the senior sailing hands- a keeper of maps, in fact. Meaning that he worked closely with the Captain...

Meaning that their search was narrowed down a whole lot further.

* * *

**NEXT TIME:** A sickening twist appears, and Guinevere's apathy is playing into Morgana's hands...

* * *

Sorry about the HTML tags; it is for another site I post on. I will get rid of these soon.


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